Everwylde

by Donna Grant

  “You are not acting yourself.”

  His friend paused in tucking his tunic into his trousers. His brow puckered in a frown. “I know I should care about where Margery is, but I do not.”

  Something was definitely wrong. Carac had to find the girls. He stalked from the tent and went to where the horses were corralled. Ravyn’s mare was gone, but Margery’s still stood with the others.

  Carac rubbed his chest again. His head swung to his tent. With wooden legs, he made his way to it. Once inside, his eyes went straight to where the staff had been the night before. It was gone.

  Just as Ravyn was.

  The betrayal cut so deeply, he couldn’t catch his breath. It felt as if someone had pulled open his chest with their bare hands and ripped out his heart.

  Ravyn, the woman he loved, had deceived him in the most heinous of ways. It was worse than what his uncle had done. Worse than...anything. It would have been far simpler had she just killed him.

  His first thought was to track Ravyn down and take back the staff after he gave her a piece of his mind. But he wouldn’t. She’d left him because the staff was more important than their love. If anything she said had been the truth. He’d promised to take the artifact to the abbey, and she’d said he should be the one to present it to Edra.

  Had that all been a lie, as well?

  Nay. That wasn’t possible. He had seen her fighting the witches. That wasn’t feigned. Neither was her hatred for Sybbyl and the Coven. So, why?

  Why!?

  Carac curled his fingers into fists. He wanted to throw back his head and bellow the word until he could no longer speak. But he locked it inside.

  Just as he sheltered what fragments remained of his heart. He had thought the world bitter and cold when his mother died, and his father became a drunk. He’d once thought himself broken when his brother died.

  But none of that compared to the hollowness that resided in him now.

  How could he have been so deliriously happy just hours earlier, only to suffer so now? It would have been better never knowing the love or contentment within Ravyn’s arms.

  “Sir?”

  He closed his eyes and refused to turn around at the sound of Rob’s voice. “Aye?”

  “Some of the men are wanting to know whether we are going or remaining?”

  “Tell them to start packing. I want to leave immediately.”

  “Aye, sir,” the boy said hesitantly. “Where are we going?”

  Carac opened his eyes to look at the bed. “Home, Rob. We are going home.”

  He’d had enough of blood and death for a while. Possibly forever.

  Each time his thoughts turned to Ravyn, he cut them off. He exited the tent. Being inside it made him nauseous. He would sleep beneath the stars until he returned home.

  He walked to the horses as the men started to tear down the camp. Carac stroked the neck of his stallion. Somehow, being with the animal helped to calm the rising tide of anger and resentment within him.

  A shout from the trees drew his attention. He looked over the horses to see two of his knights come running out of the forest. One bent over and emptied his stomach while the other looked as pale as death.

  Carac made his way to them along with others. He stood back as the two men were repeatedly asked what they’d seen, but neither could answer.

  “Sir Carac, what is it?” asked his squire.

  He looked down at the young lad and put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay here. I aim to find out.”

  Carac glanced at the knight who continued to dry heave and decided to talk to the other. He paused beside the man. “What did you see?”

  The knight’s eyes swung to him. All he could do was shake his head, refusing to speak.

  Carac glanced into the woods. “Where?”

  The knight pointed behind him before stumbling away. Before Carac could take a step, three of his knights stood on either side of him. He nodded to them, and then they began walking into the forest.

  They didn’t have to go far before Carac saw the boot sticking out from behind a tree. He walked closer and caught sight of long, blond hair tangled in the leaves. He knew before he saw the body that it was Margery.

  His knights halted in shock at the heart lying several feet from the body. But that wasn’t what disturbed everyone—including Carac. It was the fact that it appeared as if the organ had burst from Margery’s chest.

  Carac walked to her and slowly went down on his haunches near a dark stain on the ground. The first two knights must have turned her onto her back, revealing the hole in her chest.

  He swallowed when he looked into her face. Margery’s eyes were open, staring into nothing. Carac reached up and put his fingers on her lids before pulling them closed.

  Ravyn was gone with the staff. Simon wasn’t himself. And someone had murdered Margery.

  Had Margery’s death happened any other way, Carac might have suspected Ravyn. But this kind of torture was something that witches did.

  He stood and faced his men. “I need something to cover the body.”

  A knight turned on his heel and rushed away.

  Then Carac looked at the man nearest him. “Get two groups together. You take one to Bryce Castle, and send the other to John’s keep. I want to know that everything is as it should be.”

  Carac looked through the trees to the camp. Simon should be with him. Simon was never far, always there when Carac needed him the most. Where was his friend now?

  The first knight returned with a cloak that Carac draped over Margery before lifting her into his arms. The news had already traveled through the camp by the time he returned. His gaze locked with Simon’s before his friend turned and walked away.

  Carac had nowhere else to take Margery but into his tent. Rob brought in a bucket of water and rags, and to Carac’s surprise, the boy helped him clean Margery’s body.

  If Carac knew how to get to the abbey, he would return the Hunter’s body to them. Since he didn’t, he had no choice but to bury Margery there.

  When they finished readying her, Carac once again carried her to the grave his men had dug. He jumped into the hole and carefully laid Margery down. Then he reached up and took her sword that Rob had carried.

  Carac was helped out by one of his men. There was a moment of silence before they began covering the body with dirt. Carac looked behind him and saw Simon, who stood off to the side as if a stranger.

  He stalked to Simon and glared at him. “You should have carried her.”

  “I barely knew her.”

  “You told me you cared for her.”

  Simon began to answer before he hesitated. “I thought I did.”

  Carac cocked his head to the side and narrowed his gaze at his friend. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I...I do not know,” Simon said before his face crumpled. “I want to care about Margery, but I...cannot.”

  “When did you begin realizing something was different?”

  Simon shrugged, shooting him a helpless look.

  “Tell me everything that happened from the time the four of us left the camp the day before yesterday and headed to Bryce Castle,” Carac demanded.

  He listened intently as Simon detailed everything. Right up until he and Margery were separated. Simon couldn’t answer a basic question about that time. Which left only one explanation...witches.

  Chapter 35

  To have held everything. And now to have nothing.

  Ravyn knew death was coming, and she welcomed it with open arms. The moment she’d taken the staff from Carac, her soul had withered and died.

  It didn’t matter what Sybbyl and Angmar did to her now. The one thing she hadn’t known she wanted or needed was gone. She had betrayed Carac. The very thing Simon had told her never to do.

  Carac would not forgive her. Not that she would be around to ask for his mercy. She heard the witches, but she didn’t pay them any heed. Her mind was on Carac and Margery. Poor Margery. Ravyn wanted to cry for h
er, but the tears were locked away, shed only in her mind.

  Because she would not show such weakness to the Coven.

  “Praying?” came a voice close to her ear.

  Sybbyl. Hatred for the witch ran thick and pervasive in her blood. But part of Ravyn’s training had been to withstand any kind of assault a witch would launch at her—physical, emotional, and mental.

  Ravyn opened her eyes and looked around at the Witch’s Grove. The area was permeated with evil. It seeped from the ground and from the leaves of the trees to swirl in the air. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to get away from the moment Sybbyl pulled her across the invisible barrier of the Grove.

  The circular area was larger than the previous Witch’s Grove she had ventured into, but what kept her on her knees was the sheer number of Gira surrounding them.

  The nymphs looked like the trees they remained close to. Their skin was like bark, their hair branches. But it was their whispers that led others into a Witch’s Grove where the Gira would entrap the terrified person within the trees and tease and torment them for days before killing them.

  The Gira were drawn to Witch’s Groves, but they could be anywhere. If someone disappeared in the woods, Ravyn always suspected that a Gira was responsible.

  “What is the matter?” Sybbyl asked in a voice filled with false sadness. “Do you not wish to talk? Do you mourn your friend? Or your lover?”

  Ravyn kept her gaze straight ahead on Angmar, who stood in the center of the Grove with her arms out and her head back. Mist suddenly rose up from the ground and began rolling toward the elder as if it were alive.

  “Scared?” Sybbyl asked with a small chuckle. “You should be. There is much information we want from you. And you will give it to us.”

  Ravyn drew in a deep breath and mentally readied herself for the torture that she knew was about to begin. Yet, nothing could prepare her for the pain of the silver lash that came from Angmar’s hand and cut across her arm.

  Her entire limb exploded with agony. Ravyn gritted her teeth and fisted her hand to keep from screaming, but she couldn’t stop her body from jerking at the contact with such malicious magic. It burned through her, spreading from the cut outward until she shook with it.

  They had yet to ask a question, and that was the first strike. Already, she felt as if she were dying. How much could she endure?

  Then she thought of Edra and Radnar, of Asa and Berlaq, and all the others at the abbey. She thought of Margery and everything Hunters trained for.

  “Who is the witch that helps you?” Angmar demanded.

  Ravyn lifted her chin and smiled. She braced herself when she saw the whip come for her again.

  Carac looked out over his men, each staring back at him with a mixture of disbelief and fear. Five hundred men that trusted him. Followed him. Telling them about the witches had been the easy part. The hard part came when they wanted proof.

  “Your evidence came in the battle with Lord Randall’s men. How many of you actually left the field with blood on your swords?” he asked. “It was magic that prevented those men from being able to defend themselves and their lord.”

  He swallowed. “Some of you saw Margery’s body that we found this morning. No one’s heart goes flying out of his or her body. A witch was responsible. And all of you saw her. Sybbyl.”

  A murmur went through the men. He imagined that he’d worn that same shaken, stunned expression when he learned about witches. “Margery and Ravyn are witch hunters.”

  “Where is Ravyn?” someone asked.

  Carac rubbed a hand over his mouth and shifted his feet. “I have no idea.” His head swung to the side where Simon stood, guarded by two men. His friend had no idea that his mind had been altered with magic. And Carac didn’t know how deeply the spell went. Or what the witches wanted in Simon’s head.

  But Carac could guess.

  “I tell you all about this group of witches known as the Coven because there are witches who do good. But the Coven is something altogether different. We were packing up today to return to my home.”

  At the men’s expressions, which had now turned confused, Carac glanced at the ground. “My name is Carac, but I am more than a knight. I am Duke Carac de Vere. I have discovered that magic has been used on the man I consider my brother, Simon. I do not know what exactly was done to him, but he is not the same. I intend to track Sybbyl down and make her pay for this slight.”

  “We will join you,” came a shout from the back.

  It was followed by more than half of his men shouting in agreement.

  Carac raised his hand for silence. “Before you agree to come with me, know that witches cannot be killed with our blades. Only those weapons spelled with magic can kill them. But I have one,” he said and raised the single arrow from Ravyn’s crossbow. “And I intend to use it.”

  The army gazed at him silently. He smiled, understanding their hesitation. “You are the best men I have ever had the pleasure of fighting beside. We had many victories and made a lot of coin in the process. I will not think less of any of you if you choose another path. I know mine, but I do not expect any of you to accompany me on it.”

  The hush that followed was broken by a horse stomping its hoof. Then, one by one, men turned and walked away. Five hundred was soon only twenty. And Rob.

  “Lad,” Carac said with a shake of his head. “This is no place for you.”

  Rob squared his shoulders. “I want to be a knight. That means I will follow you into all situations, Your Grace.”

  He ruffled the lad’s hair and looked up at the men who remained. “We ride out in ten minutes.”

  Though Carac had known many of his men wouldn’t fight the Coven, he was disheartened that so few would stand beside him. At least, he wasn’t alone.

  While the last of the camp was taken down, Carac made his way into the forest where Margery’s body had been found. So many had trampled through the area that whatever footprints had been there were now erased.

  It took some time, but he located three sets of tracks headed northwest. One of them had a small round impression next to it every other step.

  “The staff,” he murmured as he pressed his finger into the indentation.

  He straightened and tucked the arrow into his boot next to his dagger. It was the only weapon he had that could kill the witches, and he wasn’t going to lose it.

  When he returned to get his horse, the men, including Simon and Rob, were mounted and waiting. He put his foot in the stirrup and threw his leg over the stallion. “I found tracks. We’re headed northwest.”

  They rode hard, stopping often to check tracks. Carac wondered who the third set of footprints belonged to. He would think they belonged to Ravyn if he didn’t know that her horse was gone.

  And yet, the Coven seemed to have the staff.

  Nothing was adding up. Everything pointed to Ravyn being with the Coven, but after hearing her story, he couldn’t imagine her joining them for any reason.

  “You know you can talk to me,” Simon said as he came up beside him.

  Carac hesitated, but he and Simon had shared confidences for over a decade. He took a deep breath and told Simon everything that had happened leading up to entering the castle with Ravyn, during their time with the ghost, and right up to waking this morning and everything he had found in the forest since.

  “Did you ever think that maybe the witches are holding Ravyn against her will?”

  Carac frowned because he hadn’t thought along those lines. “Ravyn would fight them.”

  “She may have been there when they killed Margery,” Simon said.

  Carac accepted a waterskin from him. “I wish I knew what the witch did to you.”

  “I know.”

  They rode in silence for some time until the tracks suddenly vanished. Carac and his men spent the next hour searching the area to see if they could find them again. Finally, Carac made the decision to continue in their current direction.

  And s
o on they traveled until nightfall. They stopped to bed down for the night against a lone tree, but every time Carac closed his eyes, he saw Ravyn’s smiling face. So, instead, he stared up at the stars until it was his turn to stand guard.

  He rose to exchange places with one of his men for the last watch. No sooner had Carac gotten settled than he felt a chill overtake him. The night was cool, but not that cold. The only thing that came close to that sensation was when the specter at Bryce Castle was near.

  Carac looked around, but he saw no sign of a ghost. He settled against the tree and let the night surround him. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Ravyn. Again and again, he cut them off, but they kept returning.

  And each time was like a knife twisting in his heart.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, he found a woman standing about fifty feet from him. He jumped to his feet and slowly approached her. The moon shed enough light that he was able to see her face.

  She gave him a small smile and tucked a strand of dark red hair behind her ear. “You have no cause to trust me, but I have information for you.”

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I saw what happened at Bryce Castle. I watched how you stood against John and the witch. I saw you fight alongside the Hunters.”

  He took a step toward her. “Ravyn? You know her?”

  “I do not know her name, but I know what she is. You were all inside the castle for a long time. I feared the Coven had won. Then I saw you emerge.”

  Carac gave a shake of his head. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Helena. The Coven tried to recruit me not long ago. I was aided by another Hunter named Leoma, which allowed me to get free. I owe the Hunters a debt. That’s why I am here.”

  “To fight with me?”

  She gave a little snort and glanced around nervously. “I tried to stand against the Coven once. That did not turn out so well.”

  “So you will allow them to win? It is because witches like you decided not to pick a side that the Coven will get the victory they seek.”